The sight of fireflies on a June night
while watering the garden and
I am transported back to a yard
full of trees, on a hill in eastern
Somewhere a whip poor will 
remembers my call.

From the house I can hear my
father still working, hammering
one last board before stopping for
the night.

I am safe among the trees as their
shadows fade into dusk. I can find
my way in the dark, capturing the
illusive luminous insects carefully
in a Mason jar.

I will fall asleep to their pulsating
lights, and they will be given 
freedom by the same hands that
weilded the hammer and
kissed me goodnight.


Milkweek, Columbine, 
Butterfly Bush and Dahlia –
I am inviting you Monarch 
and Honey Bee, Bumble Bee
and Swallowtail.
Come dine in my garden,
I welcome your appetites.